“Woah, cowboy. That’s a very personal question.”
“You spent all day dripping with my cum. That’s pretty personal too.”
Remembering our tryst in the stairwell this morning, my cheeks warm. “Good point. Why do you need my dress size?”
“Because we’re having dinner tonight. I want to buy you something special.”
“We’re having dinner?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t recall being invited on a date.”
“Was my dick inside you today or not?”
“Yes, but your dick was inside me weeks ago at the hotel too, and I thought I’d never see you again after that.”
“You thought wrong. We’re going on a date tonight, and I’m buying you a dress.”
Grinning, I tease, “Maybe I’m busy.”
A noise like the rumble of thunder comes through the speakers. The king of red flags is displeased.
“Fine, I accept your noninvitation to dinner. And it’s very generous of you to want to buy me a dress, but you don’t have to do that. I have plenty of things to wear. I’m a bit of a clothes horse.”
“I wasn’t asking permission. Tell me.”
Gauging by the tone of his voice, I know I won’t win this, so I relent and tell him. When he asks for my shoe size next, I tell him that too. Then I laugh. “And my ring size is six, cowboy, in case you were wondering.”
When that joke is met with stony silence, I cringe, mouth Fuck, and change the subject. “So where are we going to dinner?”
Over the car speakers, his voice is velvet soft. “Do you want me to buy you a ring, Shay?”
Time number two of almost driving off the road. I swerve so close to the car in the next lane, the driver honks his horn and screams at me. I better end this phone call before I cause an accident.
“Um. Um.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“I mean…it depends what kind of ring. If you’re thinking like a chastity ring, the answer’s no.”
He chuckles. “Got it. No chastity rings. Not that I’d ever give you one of those anyway. Fuck, you’re adorable. I’ll be at your place at seven to pick you up.”
He disconnects without a goodbye.
My apartment in Mar Vista is a thirty minute drive from downtown. By the time I arrive, I’ve gone over our conversation in my head about four thousand times. I also called Chelsea to further deconstruct it, but only reached her voicemail.
I’d call Jen or Angel, but after last Friday night, Chelsea’s the only one I’ll talk about Cole with.
And I already know there will be a lot to talk about.
I park, rush inside, and shower. As I’m putting on lipstick, my doorbell rings. When I open the door, lo and behold, it’s the same mystery man in a black suit with the peekaboo neck tattoo who delivered the Balmain blouse to me at the hotel weeks ago, the hottie with the British accent.
I’m so surprised to see him, I blurt, “You!”
He must be used to women reacting to him in strange ways, because he simply smiles that secretive smile of his and holds out the long black garment bag he’s holding.
I take it from him, hold it to my chest, and look him up and down.
Despite his expensive suit and tidy buzz cut, he’s got a macho swashbuckling pirate thing going on. He seems like the kind of man who could drink ten other men under the table and still have enough strength for a sword fight and a lusty romp in bed with a saucy wench. All he’s missing is a little silver ring in one ear and a tricorn hat with a jaunty feather.
I compose myself and offer a more reasonable greeting. “Hi there.”
“Hullo, miss.”
“So you’re the personal shopper?”
He inclines his head. That looks secretive too. There’s something so interesting about this guy, but at the same time, he’s more than a little scary.
“Do you have a name?”
“Axel, miss.”
“That’s a pretty badass name.”
“Thank you, miss.”
“I’m Shay.”
“I know who you are, miss.”
“Of course you do. And you don’t have to keep calling me miss, not since we’re on a first name basis now and whatnot.”
He tilts his head, clasps his hands in front of his crotch, and considers me so intently, I think he might be mapping the neural network of my brain.
“Out of curiosity, if I ask you what else you do for Cole besides deliver women’s clothing, would you tell me?”